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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856704">Reconstruction Efforts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee'>Merkwerkee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pilots of ARENA [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Masters of the Metaverse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>the responsibilities of a pilot continue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 18:46:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because the worst is over doesn't mean the work is over; being a metapilot comes with responsibilities which are not lightly ignored</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pilots of ARENA [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643143</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Reconstruction Efforts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cysud sighed as he approached the Cave of Many Places.</p><p>He was a Class III of no particular talent, and so he had only been to Arena once when he was very young - but that still put him up on nearly every other pilot still alive. His species was very long-lived, and it was just after his first travel that he’d been taken to Arena to witness…something. He’d been very young, and had spent most of the time in the sheltering cover of his eggfriend’s forebearer’s wing. But he remembered the soft sands, and the crowds of others who had gathered there to bear witness. He remembered the shouting and discussions, the manifold languages somehow becoming understandable to his ears as they flew across orange sands.</p><p>That had been the only time he had been, but it had left quite the impression on the as-then very young Cysud. He’d been told later that Arena was meant for that type of discussion, for things of importance that affected every metaverse. That there was a place to speak of threats to them all, of concerns greater than themselves; a Council of Many, designed to deal with all concerns. Though apparently his one visit there had been to a discussion much more tumultuous than most, and one that lead to a decision not everyone had particularly agreed with.</p><p>Cysud had never gone to another meeting on those warm sands; his second visit to Arena was his wholly involuntary incarceration there and there had been no sense of purpose to it.</p><p>In his taking of Arena, Antonius Basileus had destroyed it in its entirety. No longer could Cysud think of it fondly, or remember the wide-eyed awe he’d felt at seeing so many strange and wonderful people working together for the common good. Now the sands were stained irrevocably with blood in a thousand shades, the strange landscape echoed with the screams of untold thousands, and the foundation of trust that it was neutral ground broken into a million shards.</p><p>And that was the rub. Arena was necessary, in a way that few things were. Cysud had heard rumblings of invasions across metaversal borders, of pirates, thieves, and slavers escaped from the ruin of Arena trying to build themselves into the new Lord to whom all others bowed - of desperate treasure hunters seeking the treasured prize that an avatar from the tales that had flooded out into the metaverse would be. He’d heard.</p><p>And he’d ignored them.</p><p>He was a Class III; he hadn’t visited his bonded avatar in a very long time, and he had just been released from captivity to a home that no longer housed his people. He had no particular love for Arena, and so had set out to find his people instead. </p><p>It’d taken him possibly too long to admit to himself that his people no longer lived in the canyon the light had dumped him in, fresh out of Arena. His sky-drawings had gone without reaction, and it had taken several days of investigation to find the worn-away remains of the story carved into the stone near the Cave of Many Places.</p><p>They had told a tale of a cataclysm, of a great shaking of the ground after strange streaks in the sky, and how the water had dried up. His people had moved on, in hopes of finding the land where the water had fled to, but in which direction that was Cysud hadn’t been able to tell. Time had worn the runes thin, and even reading that much of the story had been difficult. Where his people had chosen to go had been entirely erased, beyond his ability to even feel the runes with his fingers.</p><p>The Cave itself had seemed strangely shrunken from his memories of it, before the sight of his diamond-mesh-patterned chest had reminded him of how much he himself had grown in the interim. He stood tall enough now that he’d had to duck to make his way through the entrance, though the smooth stone of the alcoves inside seemed as timeless as they’d ever had. He’d run his hand over the stone and felt the thrumming of the place, but he couldn’t bring himself to let it take him. Cysud had changed a great deal since he’d last voluntarily gone out into the Metaverse, and deep in his heart he was afraid of finding out how much his bond had hurt his avatar. If he hadn’t need the ability to cool himself in the blasting heat of the day, he would have relinquished his bond then and there.</p><p>But still need it he did, to keep himself alive until he reached his people. With a silent apology to his avatar, he had held on to his bond and started flying into the West. <em>When </em>he reached his people, he would let it go with a willing heart.</p><p>Of course, that had presupposed he could find them. As days turned into weeks turned into months of flying for the daylight hours and eating whatever he could scavenge at night - if there was one thing he’d learned in Arena, it was that food came in many forms and how to eat even the most unappetizing of meals - his hope grew smaller. Wherever his people had gone, they were very far away; if any of them had survived at all, of course. He’d found no runes since leaving the canyon, nor signs of dwellings, and his hope was fading.</p><p>And then, one day, someone else had appeared.</p><p>It wasn’t one of his people; the heat signature was far too small and mottled to ever make that mistake. Yet there was passing familiarity to it - and besides, it had appeared out of nowhere. That warranted a second look if nothing else did. The conversation that had followed was etched deep in Cysud’s memory.</p><p>
  <em>“You’re needed.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Where?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Arena. The slate’s been wiped clean, and it’s time for it to start working like it used to again.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m done with Arena. Why do they need my help anyway?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You remember what it used to be like.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I went there <b>once </b>while I was barely big enough to leave the nest, and that was only because the Cave had worked for me. It’s been a long time.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And yet you remember it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A pause.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes, I remember it. I remember what it was before the City rose. So what?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“So they need your help to bring it back.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You should know how it’s supposed to be. <b>You </b>help them.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“So you do recognize me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Even to my eyes, you’re alight with the vested power of Metaverse Enforcement. Plus the hat is pretty recognizable.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Then you know why I can’t help.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another pause.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Say I did help. Would you do something for me?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A snort. “Depends on what that something is.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Nothing illegal. Some information. Where are my kin?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A look. “Are you certain that’s what you truly want?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“More than anything.”<br/></em>
</p><p>
  <em>A pause.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That information will be waiting when you get back. Deal?”<br/></em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Deal.”<br/></em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Then go back to the Cave. We all have work to do.”</em>
</p><p>So here he was, standing before the very cave that had changed his life so very many centuries ago. Cysud could feel the call of the place in his bones, thrumming with inscrutable urgency. As if the presence of the Hatted Man hadn’t been sign enough that the Metaverse required his service.</p><p>Cysud heaved a deep sigh. Home had changed enough that the thought of staying held no real allure, and yet his souls felt weary unto death at what lay ahead in trying to build over the evil that had been done in Arena. he hadn’t listened to the stories well in Arena, and had never met the pilots said to have done such wonderful things, but there was a certain amount of strength to be found in such a story.</p><p>Steeling himself, he stepped forward into the Cave of Many places and settled himself down in one of the larger alcoves. As the bright heat of the Nowhere pulled his soul away to parts unknown, one thought burned a steady flame in his mind.</p><p>Hex is hope.</p>
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